


Let’s do some living after we die

by rip1009



Series: Requiem for a fool. His Dark Chronicles. [4]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Grief/Mourning, M/M, References to Depression, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rip1009/pseuds/rip1009
Summary: Set after Requiem for a fool (http://archiveofourown.org/works/13125309) Nicolas remembers the night be was given the Dark Blood and a friend comes to visit.





	Let’s do some living after we die

**Author's Note:**

> || in my stories, Anne Rice vampires have sex. Words not in Italic are memories.||

> “I saw a bird soaring out of a cave above the open sea. And there was something terrifying about the bird and the endless waves over which it flew. Higher and higher it went and the sky turned to silver and then gradually the silver faded and the sky went dark. The darkness of evening nothing to fear, really, nothing. Blessed darkness. But it was falling gradually and inexorably over nothing save this one tiny creature cawing in the wind above a great wasteland that was the world. Empty caves, empty sands, empty sea. (The Vampire Lestat)

_I confess, I read Lestat's first book and returned to the passages he quotes me but what truly stuck with me was his take on the night he gave me the Dark Gift. In retrospect, I recall this scene together with Armand's prophetic ramble: one of Lestat's fledglings will hate him for his superiority, one will hate him for taking his life. I guess, one will turn mad was reserved for me. The imp loved to rub salt on bleeding wounds._

_I too have a take on that moment...._

Rome, 1899

I left Paris after the destruction of Santiago. I've heard tales about Armand and Lestat. Some said they died, others believed they've vanished from the face of the earth and turned to ground. My mind has plotting. Thinking of various ways to repay Armand's 'kindness'. The treacherous devil always made it out and everyone took pity on him. The curse of having been immortalized in the body of a youth, so beautiful and looking so innocent, fools would burn the world for his love. 

For some time, I let them vanish from my thoughts, processing the loss of my beautiful childe, my Santiago. As Santino had spoke that night I found the ruins of the Theater and the remains of Santiago, time will give me the opportunity to avenge his death. Truth was, I wanted to avenge myself as well. Avenge those years of madness and misery inside the Theater.

You see, I was mad. Mad from the moment that creature broke into the night and stole Lestat. I thought the worse and no one would believe my tale. Who would believe a tale about a demon stealing into the night and capturing my beloved brat? 

I remember the nights of endless sleep, the endless bottles of wine, the opium, walking without purpose and seeing his face haunting me, teasing me for not being able to save him.

I lied when I told him those awful things when we parted and I remember fragments of what I told him after he saved me from Armand's minions.

I could never forget what they've done to me. I can never forget Armand haunting my thoughts with his demons, the leering, the vile filth they would whisper, their hands over my body, their fangs piercing my flesh, bleeding me dry. 

I expected I would die in Paris when I came with Lestat. Funny thing, we both died and we both rose up from Death's embrace.

I paced along the living of the villa I had purchased in Rome. The air was warm and would let the night pass until I would go out and find a victim. Some nights, I loved to feed the moment I rose, on others I prolonged the hunger. 

At one point, during the months I've lived with Eleni and the others, the dark beauty who played both me and her former Coven master, she told me I had a predilection for young men with blonde hair when I hunted. Of course, she wasn't stupid.

I grieved in my own wretched way as I do right now.

I played my violin, letting the anger and sadness pour from my soul, from my skin. They said this was one manifestation of my dark gifts, like a mad Pied Piper, I lured my victims, intoxicating their minds with my melodies. I couldn't care less. In time, I learned it was the truth. Back then...back then, I didn't care. I was alone. Alone with my own demons and the minions who had succeeded in running the Theater. Armand got Lestat's money and the right to watch out over me, Eleni got the papers. I got to be tied to a chair and forced to write. 

They said I shouldn't have been turned into a vampire. They forget my madness was thrice amplified after that wretched night they raped by body and mind and threatened to have me burn on the pyre. Like the witches back home, alone, facing the crowds hungry for blood. 

I remember seeing Lestat break into the crypt. I was already close to death's threshold. 

I remember when they came for me. I tried to fight them but I've lost that fight like I've lost so many more. I screamed and no one could hear me. I ached from the gashes they left all over me, they feasted on my blood, their filthy hands all over me, their voices breaking into my mind. So handsome, a perfect consort for Death. How pretty I was, how delicious my blood was. 

Later on, I learned they could read one's thoughts. They saw my memories, my fantasies. They turned them against me. It made me crawl but I couldn't. Trapped in their powerful hands, I was nothing but food and a body they could play with. A toy they used for their sick vendetta against Lestat. It hurt more than their fangs ripping my throat, it made me feel more ashamed than their fingers ghosting over, their minds piercing my skull and intoxicating me with lust and madness. Those were the rites of old. Of breaking such as I. I cried, I cursed, I screamed and I blacked out.

I heard Lestat's voice. I was taken from the coven and brought back to a place that felt strange and hollow. 

I unleashed a string of incoherent words against him. I was feverish and dying. I didn't want to die. I wanted to take revenge on what was done to me. I pleaded with Lestat. To turn me into what he was, into what his mother was.

I didn't realize the moment he would taste my blood and pierce my thoughts, I would grant Lestat entrance to what my mind was in that moment. Twisted, bleeding. I was swimming in a black see and I couldn't reach the shore. My arms ached, my legs felt like led and I still tried to crawl and escape, afraid of the voices who would haunt me, every day, every moment of my existence.

I remember his fangs descending on my neck. It should have been you, Lestat. Not them. I tried to jerk and escape, still hearing the hollow laughter of the minions, hearing their teases. I was probably mad. I could still hear them. They have found me, even here. I tried to plead for Lestat to make them go away but my mouth couldn't utter a single word and he was lost in the blood swoon. "Such a pretty whore you are. He will never love you. From this moment on, he will realize the filth you are. You belong to us, Nicolas. You're ours to do as we wish".

This was how it felt being taken from what was left of my mortal life and delivered to this existence.

As I remember that night, I picked up my violin, trying to sing something, anything. Ever since they've cut my hands and waited so long until they attached them, the damaged had been done. They hurt, they twitch involuntary and the music is twisted. Yet, I'm determined to reclaim my muse. To reclaim my symphony. They laughed when they realized I couldn't sing. I will be the last one standing and laughing.

I pushed myself harder into the task of improving my skill. I had promised Santiago I will do it. He would caress my hands, at the seems where they had been cut and I would flinch, like a tortured animal, afraid I would be hurt once again. 

I always tried to understand why they were like that.

"Because they were mad as well, caro. This is what years and years spend in isolation does to the poor souls" I recognized Santino's voice. He made his way from the shadows of the room and stood behind me. I couldn't care less or I cared too much. His hand made its way to my back, kneading the muscles. I owed him everything, I owed him nothing. He had been the only teacher I had. The only one who lied less.

"Still circling my thoughts?" I muttered.

"Still keeping your mind so open?" he retorted as he kept tracing patterns over my back. He suddenly wrapped one arm over my waist, the other undoing my shirt. I stood, knowing too well how things will proceed. I grinned, just like during our early days, when I was healing from the fire. I needed this. I needed the fire, the lust, something sane enough to pull me from my thoughts and put me back on tracks. I let him peal the shirt of me and carry on. "Make me ready for what I have to do" I muttered as I felt his fangs grazing my skin. "Show me how to be powerful enough to carry on my mission" I gasped as my neck was pierced and my body was slowly drained. It was always seduction with Santino, the most powerful of all weapons. "Teach me how to get my revenge", I gritted as his pull of my blood intensified. This was our way. Anger, lust, sarcasm, teacher and student. I needed him. I needed his strength, his mind.

"I know. Keep your mind closed. Never let them hear your pain", I listened and complied.

I moaned and pushed back as he took me, showing him the lesson were learned. I felt my heart ache. I felt my body burn. I needed to surrender and I wanted to be powerful enough to fight back. My mouth sought his, our mouths imitating a war, bloody and cruel. His blood was sweet and spicy, powerful, it had healed me back in the dark days. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer as he drove himself deeper into me, reclaiming me, branding me. I took his blood, again, letting it course through my veins. As dawn approached, I untangled myself from his grasp and called for one of the servants. The poor thing was an orphan I had hired to keep the house clean. No one would miss her. We feasted on her blood and we discarded the corpse.

"Where are they, Santino?" I asked as I put back my shirt.

"Lestat has returned to the States. No one knows for sure where he is right now. Armand and Louis are making their rounds around Europe. Travelling, like two broken love-birds. We have time to think matters through", he spoke calmly preparing to leave. He would always find me. That I knew. 

Read between the lines. I always did that, mon brat. If only you'd know the truth.

_It ached to read that chapter in which you detailed my transformation. You never knew how it went for me. You never knew that the Coven was still inside my mind. That everything had been a carefully played act to lure you and break you. They pushed me past my limit and yet, I managed to survive. Thanks to the mad Queen, many of them are no more. Unfortunately not the ones I loathed the most. You believed those letters Eleni sent. I recall how she sat with Armand and he would dictate what to write. I remember my ordeal with a healed mind and broken hands. And you will read my story, Lestat. And one day, I will take my revenge on what they did to us, to you, to me, to Santiago. One day, I might even forgive you. Forgive you for being so gullible, so naive. Forgive you for leaving me in the hands of those demons. Forgive you for believing my lies, my madness. One day, I might forgive myself for my stubbornness and pride._

 


End file.
